Karma, Served Cold
by Amigodude
Summary: No one comes to Roanapur. There are no OC's. Only our four main characters and their inner demons.
1. Chapter 1

**I – Set the Stage**

"_Non long hai chok" means sleeping in a coffin. This Thai ritual has become increasingly popular in the last few years. It involves participants lying in coffins while monks perform death rites on them as if they already passed away. _

"So here we are?" said Revy looking about. "Fuckin', with a capital A, Dutch. What did we do to deserve this?"

The look on her face would have made the Florida mafia loosen their bowels all over again if today had been that bygone day. But the malevolence was lost on Dutch.

"I told Rock he was in charge of employee affairs this week," Dutch said."Its' good business practice. Take it in stride, he's calling the shots. And we're going to do it together, as a team. No one backs out."

"What's that, Dutch?" exclaimed Revy. "Ya know, I'm sorta going deaf what with me having to save our asses all the time without ear protection. If we're going to talk about employee stuff what kind of benefits are we gonna get, cause this ain't one of them. And I'm sure Benny didn't hear a fuckin' thing."

"Trying not to," said Benny.

Perhaps the practiced serenity cracked. One could never tell. Dutch wore sunglasses, all the time. Which he probably was regretting since they were in a dimly lit chamber beneath the K̄ĥāng l̀āng temple somewhere south of downtown in Roanapur.

"How about I do employee relations starting now?" Revy said. "Ye-llow Flag, Ye-llow Flag. Who want's to go to the Yellow Flag? There's more truth at the bottom of an empty glass than anything we'll find here."

"Two thousand baht," said Rock entering the chamber. "It should only have been eight hundred. I checked out prices first."

"Sounds like a rip-off to me," Revy said. "Now, who's with me? Yellow Flag?"

"I had some words with the head monk," said Rock. "Told him we were hardly Roanapur's latest fresh meat..."

Benny was standing too close to Revy for her comfort. She elbowed him hard in the ribs. "See? The dumbass is starting to pick up on how I do things."

"... and he said," Rock raised his voice. "...the price cannot and will not be changed on account of meat – whether it's fresh or stale. All four of you are _farang,_ none of you are presumably Buddhist, and then of course – the special accomodations. Limited edition. The only rule: you have to fall asleep.."

"Sometimes I meditate," gurgled Benny, clutching his side. "And I used to have an old paperback by Ram Dass. And Jane does the most amazing..."

"Shut up Benny," Revy said loudly. "Fuck it. Rock... This idea of yours... I mean, flying metal balls and midget aliens would be right at home in this creep show of yours. We could do the Snake Temple instead. So, the sooner we get done... the better."

"We are in Thailand," said Rock. He held himself in the determined way they all knew so well from past experience. There was no exit for any of them from this moment forward. "Yet in all this time we've never actually been in Thailand. We never get out of the city, we never see the sites, never experience the culture. Raise your eyes up from the ground and look about. Just this once."

Rock began to swing the door shut, then hesitated as the sonorous tones of the monks daily chant filtered down the hallway.

"_Buddham saranam gacchami, _

_Dhammam saranam gacchami, _

_Sangham saranam gacchami, _

_Dutiyampi ... _

_Tatiyampi …"_

Rock closed the door. There followed a silence as deep as layered dust. The four stood apart from each other.

"We're not tourists," Revy said finally. "And this ain't culture."

Her tone was oddly defeated and the uttered phrase so lacking the usual obscenity where it should have been that all three of her fellow crew-mates looked askance. Revy stared down at her untied shoelaces as if they were suddenly important.

More important than the four open coffins.


	2. Chapter 2

**II - A Lying Tongue**

Upriver. The Golden Triangle. Beads of sweat making tracks down his shaved head to the back of his neck. The sound phone must have been off the receiver topside cause he could hear the conversation between Caxton and Benny as clear as day.

**Caxton**: "Your Boss. You sure he was in 'nam?"

**Benny**: "That's what he told me. Why?"

**Caxton**: "I was there in 71. He said he was with BWN TF116 and that he participated in Operation Crimson Tide... but TF116 wasn't on that op. Plus... he didn't know simple GI slang. I'll put it to you straight. His background is all a lie."

**Benny**: …

**Caxton**: "There's no such thing as an unnecessary lie. There's always some intent behind deception. You're still young. Look out for yourself."

The man called Dutch didn't stir. He might as well have been the stone Buddha at the harbor entrance of Roanapur.

A little before midnight. Who knew how long Caxton and his men would be gone? Gone upriver to meet mad nemesis wearing her maid's apron. The humidity hanging heavy as cheesecloth, the moon a single dreary blur through the sodden threads.

There was shouting from topside and Dutch stirred. Nothing more than a slight turn of the head. Better stay at the controls, be ready to drive the boat. Dutch paused but a moment. Dutch stood up, took a rag out of his pocket and wiped the back of his neck. Stay cool.

On deck, Benny and Rock were bent over a body. A body too close in size to be anyone else. But the face was obscured by the draped hood.

"We pulled him out of the water," babbled Benny. "Dutch, he looks just like you..."

The Smith and Wesson 629 filled Dutch's hand like an old friend. One shot rang out and Benny slid over the side.

Rock stumbled away, his eyes wide. "_Ittai nani ga?_" he blurted out in the moment before the second bullet blew through his heart. It was probably the stress of the final moment that caused him to revert back to his native tongue. Like Benny he slid out of sight into the foetid waters.

Like the echo of his own heart beating, he heard Revy's footsteps beating on the deck as she came up behind him.

"What the fuck Dutch? What the fuck?"

Revy had the Berettas out. An unlit cigarette dangled from her lips.

"Is that the last smoke?" Dutch asked.

"Yeah," said Revy. Her glance went back and forth between the body stretched on the deck and Dutch like a metronome on speed.

"May I have a drag?" asked Dutch.

Revy hesitated a moment. Then she slowly holstered one of the guns. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and passed it over to Dutch.

Dutch shot her. No light went out of her eyes as she corkscrewed over the side into the waiting water. Swallowed up in the miasma. Gone.

They were dead. All of them. Snuffed out in an instant. Dutch took a moment to savor the moment of silence and then he lit the cigarette. Puffed it slowly. Dutch thought to himself that, through their silence – now he would keep his security and identity his own – keep escaping from the past.

"I'm going to need a new crew," he said.

The body on the deck stirred. It stood up facing him. With a horrible nonchalance, like an actor too well aware of the audience watching with waited breath, it raised its rotting hands and pulled back the hood.

"Motherfucker!" two cried out. Indistinguishable. The same voice. But were they?

There was no way out. Dutch plunged forward. He seized the man by the throat, but his own throat was gripped with the same brutal force.

Stillness. The stillness from a coffin buried six feet under.

_note: Thanks Rei Hiroe. Drop a big possible plot point - and then go nowhere with the idea._


	3. Chapter 3

**III A Deceitful Witness that Uttereth Lies**

It was getting late in the day when they caught up to him 15 miles south of Roanapur. Of all things, a flat tire had been his undoing. With a red sun lowering on the horizon, the black sedan had pulled up behind while he struggled with the spare.

The spare tire rolled down the bank into the rice paddy. As they broke his fingers one by one, the tire slowly sank with little bursts of bubbles out of sight beneath the muddy waters.

He understood the significance of this introduction to pain even while he howled and writhed – no longer anyone's image of detachment. His fingers were his middleware, translating his every thought into the cyber realm.

But he was surprised when Biu took his glasses and stepped aside with them while Chang's men did their task. When they were done, Biu carefully slid them back on for him with his pale lips twitched up in exquisite scorn.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out with his mangled, bloody claws and and leave scarlet trails across Biu's starched white shirt. But someone hit him hard upside the head and he slid into darkness.

The darkness was acceptable, he wasn't the kind to rave against the end. Going gently into that good night was a wonderful idea. Let Revy and her kind blaze like meteors in the night sky. His father had loved Dylan Thomas – therefore he had developed an antipathy towards such sentiments.

Quick was good.

A repetitive burring sound slowly brought him back awake and to the pain.

He lay on a floor of white tiles. The smell was fiercely antiseptic.

The Cleaner sat on the edge of the workbench. Her black boots swung lazily back and forth. There was an intent to her pose, a crow waiting upon the last breath of it's carrion feast.

He stared at her. He realized the burring sound had been her attempt at clearing her throat.

Sawyer slid off the table and took a step towards him. She fumbled at the envelope she held and pulled out a piece of paper. She held the letter up and opened her mouth.

Nothing came out. There was an awkward stretch of silence.

Sawyer sucked in her cheeks in a nervous gasp and tried to speak again.

Silence.

He saw what appeared to be a bead of sweat begin to crawl down a porcelain cheek.

Sawyer coughed convulsively. She crunched up the letter with a furious gesture. For a moment he thought she was going to toss the crumpled up ball of paper at him.

"**Stage... fright."**

Sawyer whirled about and stood with her back to him. She un-crumpled the letter and began to speak as fast as she could with her mechanical voice.

"**'Dear Benny,**

"**Thanks for everything, I had... a wonderful time but you should have known... this was coming. **

"**It breaks my heart... knowing you probably waited for me until it was too late. Once I started transferring... funds from both the Russians and the Chinese into my offshore accounts... I knew I needed, what do you Americans say? A fall guy.**

"**The two of us... weren't going to make it out of this piss-hole of a city together. And the only thing... I like more than money... is myself. I've seen what they do to people here, for example... that Twisted. Little. Whore with the chainsaw!' **

"**Wait... What?! Fuck her!**

"**'I'll never forget our time together. You have one of the biggest co... '"**

Sawyer's thin shoulders began to shake. The most horrible sound imaginable emanated from small body.

"**Love... and Kisses... Janet Bhai. Ha... ha.. haaha.."**

Benny realized Sawyer was laughing.

"**If it... makes you happy... the Russians.. I don't work for them... they found her before she left the country..."**

"Get on with it," Benny whispered. He didn't give a shit anymore.

"**I'm just... 'the goddamn Cleaner,'"** rasped Sawyer. She dropped the letter and stepped back against the wall. **"Let me introduce you... to the Painters."**

"You fucked up Benny-boy," rumbled the deep baritone. It was Dutch.

Rock circled to stand in front so Benny didn't have to twist his head to look behind. Of course, Rock looked his usual earnest self. But the crowbar he gripped in both hands spoke volumes.

"It's either you or us," said the ex-businessman. "We really don't have a choice, I wish we could do something...

"Fucking moron," snarled the voice he'd been waiting for. "Told you I was gonna kill you one of these days."

Quick wasn't going to happen. Fuck Dylan Thomas.

_note: Jane wasn't all that broken up when Theo, her operator got his brains splattered. And she double-crossed Li Xinlin without a care. Consequences don't really seem to matter to Greenback Jane._


	4. Chapter 4

**IV The one sin for which there is no forgiveness**

One of the moments which make up a dull day passes by in an offhand way.

Rokuro Okajima wakes up, gets out of bed, drags a comb across his head. Looking up he notices he is late and makes the train in seconds flat. They are packed in so tight one can barely breathe; chest to back, butt to groin, weary faces blank and slightly aside. There is a delay, for once the train doesn't run on time

He works in Material Procurement, he shares his office cubicle with two other men. Today one of them is missing. Fujiwara comes by later and with his usual cruelty pinches Rock by the lobe of his ear and twists.

"There are only so many employees at Asahi Industry who we can trust," he hisses. "And today of all days you're late. Hideyoshi was on time – you weren't."

Nothing more is said. Later Rokuro and his cubicle mate roll out Hideyoshi's chair. A futile act of rebellion, the next day a new hire is assigned to their cubicle and they are back to the same conditions.

They never see Hideyoshi again. Eventually a rumor circulates at the water cooler. Sent on some secret errand he'd been shot by pirates. Or he fell off a boat and was eaten by sharks. Something improbable.

This is the life of the salaryman: Rokuro lives in his one room apartment in the suburbs – the commute is long. He gets into the crowded train with all the others and then stays at the offices of Asahi Industries till 11 or 12 at night. He is always behind due to the heavy amount of work expected. His debts pile up, he doesn't even understand how he could get into debt – he hasn't time to spend on anything. Then he gets back on the train which is crowded with the others; dead eyed men and women just like him.

Repeat... repeat... repeat...

Two years have got behind him with not a single day different from the one before. He is called into Fujiwara's office one day.

"Sacrifices are expected," says Fujiwara, who has developed an annoying tick which makes his right eye flicker like a camera shutter. "You're going to be let go – but can come back to work for us as a temporary worker. IF... If you work hard, perhaps in five years we can offer a full time position again."

"Thank you Fujiwara-sama," says Rokuro woodenly. He's seen it coming. They all had. Almost a third of the workers at Asahi Industries had been converted over into temporary workers. It means less pay and more work.

"If you had studied harder, you would have done better in life," scolds his mother at a rare family dinner. Rokuro looks up from his dish. At these infrequent gatherings he tends to be quiet. His parents dote on his older brother who has risen to senior management and has begun to bear an uncanny resemblance to Kageyama, his division chief at Asahi Industries.

Rokuru has no response. His brother slurps his noodles.

"Synergies and efficiencies," says Fujiwara shrilly. "Asahi Industries has to do more with less in these times. Materials Procurement has been downsized, so you'll have to do the work of those other two we had to let go. Keep working hard, and you'll get that full time position back. You might even be promoted and be just like me."

"Thank you Fujiwara-sama," says Rock.

"Just like me," repeats Fujiwara. It is so hard not to stare at the flickering eye.

Rokuru buys a copy of the perennial Japanese bestseller, _The Complete Manual of Suicide. _ He sleeps fitfully in the few hours he has at night and the book becomes well worn, the tips of the pages become rounded. The spine breaks, he is not gentle with the book.

One day, as gray as any other, Rokuro does not go to work.

He take the train to Osaka, but gets off at the Shin-fuji station. He has no interest in Mount Fuji though it dominates the landscape. He is going to the Sea of Trees.

The Sea of Trees is a forest to the northwest of the great mountain. After the first kilometer past the usual tourist spots, he is deep within the woods. Everything has begun to turn brown and he pulls his the collar of his coat tight. It is cold, very cold.

It is so quiet. Quiet enough to sleep It is a pleasing thought. To go to sleep and never wake again. Every year a hundred or so men and women come here and never return to the living. Aokigahara, the Suicide Forest.

Rokuro takes the train back to Tokyo.

Rokuro walks back to his apartment through the gray streets. A stray snowflake here and there drift by. He walks past a park where children shout and play warlike games and then he stops.

A young woman sits on a park bench. She wears cowboy boots and a tartan style skirt. She leans forward, as if her only concern was the cigarette dangling from her lips.

And she knows when his eyes touch her, she's instantly aware and she turns her head to stare back. She sizes him up with a feral stare sharper than a jeweller's diamond, more piercing than any spear. And then her focus shifts and looks right through him.

Rokuro gasps.

And then he is running, running away – as fast as he can.

Tomorrow, Rokuro will get into the crowded train with all the others and then stay at the offices of Asahi Industries till 11 or 12 at night. He is always behind due to the heavy amount of work expected. His debts pile up, he doesn't even understand how he could get into debt – he hasn't time to spend on anything. Then he gets back on the train which is crowded with the others, dead eyed men and women just like him.

Let the days pass, always like the last.

_note: 'Synergies and efficiencies' - yeah, haven't HEARD that one before. Anyway, really no mystery what Rock fears. And for those who will pick up on it, yes - I riffed off of Pink Floyd and the Beatles there. I wanted to work in some quotes from Yukio Mishima but I really found myself rushing through this installation. For those of us who are office drones, all too familiar a tale. I didn't want to dwell too long on the writing._

_It does beg the question though, who really is the walking dead? Revy? Or all these people?_

_The Suicide Forest is real._


	5. Chapter 5

**V ****What's Done is Done**

Surprise, fuckers! I'm not gonna fall asleep!

No, we're not gonna have whacked out dreams about my past. There won't be any unwanted dredging up of abuse, abandonment, incest, murder, rape, torture, snuff, etc. ad nauseum whatever the fuck... What are ya, some kind of perv? I don't CARE one little piece of dog poo about my past.

Got it?

No half baked tales about me doing a twenty foot slingshot jump out of a crappy little car filled with dying Viet-moo-goo gai pan immigrant shitheads kids onto a car hauler thingy where I do crazy gun-fu shit against a crazed white-haired demon gunbitch in her van filled with mercenaries. In, uh... Connecticunt or somethin'. And I'm only thirteen! Right...

Yeah, that's fuckin' fer real. Go ahead, just im'gine me doin' a cartwheel off the top of one of those cars in the middle of the night both guns blazing. Hot metal cartridges in supah slow mo bouncing off the tarmac as cars collide and crash and explode! Fucking hot! Total bullshit!

About as believable as that whore-slut, beggin' for forgiveness from god and her victims, whore Roberta walkin' out of the Yellow Flag while it's completely toasted. I mean, goddamn - inferno time – and she comes all stepping out with her little apron not a little mussed up at all. You know why? Cause the bitch actually soaked all her clothing in fire retardant juice, you monkeys!

From what I hear, her head swelled up too, twice its usual size the next day from the burns she suffered – but that's because I punched her over and over and over. Roberta, the boobley bobble head! And she lost all her hair! Seriously. She was so wearing a wig when she came back for round two.

I won that fight by the way.

Why am I fuckin' monologing in my coffin? I tell you fuckin' why? Cause I. AM. SO. FUCKIN'. CLAUSTOPHOBIC.

It's really bad. I got the cold sweats. And I'm shakin' so hard I have to bite down to make sure my teeth don't chatter. I don't want them to hear. And I gotta make sure I don't bite my lip, cause I will do it till it bleeds...

Go smoke a cig outta that hole in your forehead!

Thank you Rock for such a dumb, dumb, oh so insanely dumb motherfucker idea. Let's experience some local culture, he says. And the worst part is now I have to outlast those three dumbshit motherfuckers. I won't be the first one – I will outlast them all.

Goddamnit.

Now the Thai do it sensible, it's really not a coffin – it's more of a cloth covered rectangle on the floor. A few whing-whangs from a summer intern monk, make sure not to insult the monarch, and your destiny is all set. Hand over the baht and your karma's all clean.

But not us _farang_. Oh no, we get the underground goth chamber. Bwah, bwah, BWAHHHH! – Dracula is here! And the coffins are these godawful cheap things covered in red felt. I am not shitting you. There's a little bronze plate on the inside in cyrillic, so it's some kinda Russian thing. So.. this means Balalaika actually is in the business of shipping Russian style coffins.. to Thailand? Why? In what possible world does this make sense?

Oh, those Slavic types, always babbling about how spiritual they are. And then they pocket the dough with a smirk. This thing is so cheap I could bust outta here using my fists. One day they will make a movie about a kick ass girl who can do just that.

Yeah, I'm a racist little bitch who talks like a gunsel from some pissass fifties movie. Deal with it. Shenhua said it best, I'm a goddam twinkie – yellow on the outside – white on the inside. 100% gangsta!

Bet you wanna know why I'm claustrophobic? Shit... Do we even have to go there? I'm so drenched, it's soaking into the silk lining of the coffin, it's sorta cold.

Like death's clammy hand. But I've shaken her hand already. Nice lady. She doesn't judge ya.

Dutch got in first. Then Benny with his usual look of dweeby despair. Rock, of course, tightened his tie. (And why, oh why, won't he wear the Hawaiian shirts I got him – so sick of his ties. Though he does use them in the most...

Ah...

Ah... Haa..aaahahahaaha. We're gonna pass.

Pass: As in "please add sex scenes."

I, Rebecca – known as Revy, have had hella sex in my life. I could give it and take it - I've done things you won't for a buck snapped in the g string. And not all of it was of my choosing which makes me sorta twisted inside, with broken shards of mirrors and stuff. Eat, bite, fuck, suck, gobble, nibble, chew... gimmee a buck for some food and blow... and I will do you... back when I was a ho.

Did you know Dutch snores? Like a freight train. There's some kinda serious echo thing going on with these coffins. Benny's makin' all sort of funny noises. Probably jackin' off to some deviant thing Jane told him about. And they call me sick?

Okay, I am sick. A few months ago, I got all decked up in black leather and butt floss and got on stage with the cameras rolling at the GoofFest. Ol' Jackpot 'bout creamed in his pants with me finally returning to do a show like old times. And what did I do?

I sodomized a fat load on stage. It was all part of a brilliant plan of mine – which made a lot of sense. Uh, I think it did. Look it up – you can download the video clip off of Rustie and Edie's bulletin board. All ten seconds of it. I know that little sneak Benny put it up.

You know what got me off during that show of mine?

Rock watching me.

That so got me off. I got so wet.

Anyway, before I got in this cheap-ass plywood coffin, I checked the door to the chamber, there is a slide lock from the inside. Check. These coffins? No kinda weird latch to lock you in when you close. Check. I'm not stupid, I check these things. No one gonna sneak up and do me with some lead. All I gotta do is wait for these three dweebs to chicken out. I have to be the last one no matter what. No matter how hard it is.

There's a creak and a deep grumble in a very cool baritone. Dutch is done. I tried to fuck him way back when, and he turned me down. Only man to do so.

And he ain't gay. He's just old and is sorta particular "I don't do the help," he said. Should I be insulted?

Benny makes an odd sorta whistle and hiccup and he musta freaked out or something cause he throws back the coffin lid with a bang. Yeah, there was a weird, awkward moment after we saved his ass where I almost went down on him also. But, all he talks about is momma-boards and some guy named Bill who's in a Window.. Close fuckin' call there. I would have had to shoot him. Went on a killin' spree instead.

Down to me and Rock.

I scratch my fingernails along the inside of the coffin. The fake silk lining tears apart easily

I don't know what to do.

So easy before he came. I didn't have to think, didn't have to care. All I had to do was do the dance of death with any and all. And then he had to fuck with me.

"_The reason I'm so hung up on you acting like this.. is because I can't stand to see the person who taught me so much.. spouting the same kind of bullshit that I used to hear from the scum I left behind. I WON'T... STAND FOR IT!"_

Oh, Rock. You bastard. And I can breathe a sigh of relief as I hear him groan something unintelligible and throw back the lid of his coffin with a loud bang. There's no door prize, but I've beaten the three pussies yet again. Time for my glorious finish.

There's little room, have to bend at the elbow and place my palms against the inside of the coffin lid and I press. It doesn't give, I press harder. It still doesn't move. And I panic a little.

There was no latch. It must be stuck, the humidity and stuff.

I push with everything I have, and nothing happens.

Fuck pride and dignity. Motherfuck it all! I'm in a sea of fuck. I try to scream and not a sound comes forth from my stretched out mouth. My body's a piece of bone dry wood. I can't move no matter how hard I strain.

And then I hear it. A soft sound.

The sound of a clump of dirt on the coffin top.

I hear Mr. Chang; "Ms. Rebecca had potential. Too bad she forgot to watch her flanks like I told her."

And a shovel full of dirt cascades down.

Balalaika says, "I told her not to wish for a life like his. Look what happened, Two-hand. _Snyavshi golovu, po volosam ne plachut_."

Dirt falls.

Fabiola says, "I hear the skeleton chorus laughing now. Welcome back to hell."

Dirt falls.

Eda says, "I won't piss on your memory at your funeral. But I want you to know something... I cheated at cards. Every single time."

Dirt falls. I'm not dead you bastards, let me out.

Shenhua says, "This one time you lose. You bad! You very bad! I no miss you at all, bitch!"

Dirt falls.

Sawyer says,** "Rest... In... Pieces..."**

But I am dead. I've always been dead as I walked through life. But I want to live now. I don't want to be six feet under.

Dirt falls.

Dutch says, "She was a good employee. Always did her job well."

That's it?! That's all you have to say? Really? Asshole!

Benny says, "Uh, yeah. She was uh... something else."

Oh... fuck you. I'm gonna kill you!

Rock clears his throat.

I don't wanna hear it. I don't wanna hear it. Waking up is like riding a surfboard on a wave of pure adrenaline. I curl my hands into fists of iron and smash the coffin top as hard as I can till it buckles and pops and breaks open. (It's cheap plywood) I sit up and twist the shattered remnants off its hinges. I'm cursing, it's the only way to deal with the claustrophobia. I take a few minutes to reduce the motherfucking coffin to tinder. I jump on it, pick it up and heave it against the wall. My only regret is no monk sticks his head into the room to see what the shouting's all about.

Out of breath. Staggering. Panting like a dog. I brush non existent dirt off my shoulders. The three of them are looking at me as if I'm stark raving batshit crazy.

"What? WHAT!?"

Benny sidles along the wall to the door. He fumbles at the lock and give us all a sickly grin.

"Jane... eh, you know. She wanted me to. Yeah... anyway later."

He's gone.

Dutch clears his throat and stares at the around at the wreckage. "My thoughts. My thoughts indeed. Rock, I think you showed poor judgment here. This did nothing for employee morale. Not a damn, motherfucking thing."

"I'm sorry, Dutch," says Rock.

"Hell yeah, you're sorry. You can pay for the extra expenses Two Hand just racked up. I'm goin'. Catch you two later."

And he's gone.

"Revy, your hands, they're bleeding," says Rock.

I shrug his concern aside and make for the door myself. Then I stop.

"Hey, Rock," I say.

"Yes Revy?"

"You're an asshole, baby. You know that? Why'd you think this was a good idea?"

Rock shrugs in his sheepish way and for a moment he's the innocent bastard we kidnapped out in the South China seas.

"I don't want to remember the past, and I don't give a flying fuck about the future," I say. "I'm about the right now, right here. And I gotta bottle of Old Overholt stashed under the bed I've been holding onto for just the right moment. What do you say? Is it the right moment?"

Rock smiles.

"Well, let's get on with it... "

_T__he End._

_Note: What exactly did Balaika say? The title of the chapter is the translation._


End file.
